


the boy in the dirty shirt

by SwingBallBlues



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, Historical Accuracy, Love at First Sight, M/M, Natural Disasters, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, muggle!percival, obscurial!credence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwingBallBlues/pseuds/SwingBallBlues
Summary: Percival Graves had his heart broken by one church advocate, namely Credence Barebone.(AU in which Percival was never a part of the Wizarding World)





	

Percival Graves was a private man. Faring a quiet, wealthy life, his days were aesthetically beautiful but devoid of substance. He dressed well, commuted to an investment bank in downtown New York City every day at six in the morning and was gone by five in the afternoon, with a large, over-the-top apartment graced with a series of arched doorways, painted ceilings, and variegated marble floors to come home to. No family, no friends, _only colleagues_ , no attachments. An empty exercise in wealth and beauty, his life was. He studied hard in university more to prove a point rather than to succeed, though he eventually did both and was employed right after he graduated with flying colors. When he was in his twenties he thought he needed the sentiment of a partner to welcome him home after long work hours, but now that he was reaching forty he felt too comfortable to make an effort.

 

If there was one thing paradoxical about him, it was that he was wholeheartedly religious. He drank but didn't get drunk, he was rich but didn't gamble, he had sharp edges but never hurt anyone just for the sake of it, he lusted but never sinned. He dressed in his Sunday best every weekend, attended sermons, and stopped for street preachers. He'd been to various churches in Manhattan but never really settled for one lest he got too accustomed, he _liked_ changes. And anonymity. He didn't want to acknowledge himself as a handsome fellow but his face did attract attention, it could only be so long until people start looking. Thus, hopping from one church to another from time to time didn't feel so much like an arduous task it really was.

 

It was one chilly Saturday, and he found himself walking all the way to Allen Street, going south as his soles rapped the blacktop until he reached Pike Street where a curious sight presented itself before him. There was a boy— no, a young _man_ , stood thirty feet away from him across the road, head bowed and shoulders slumped, wordlessly handing out leaflets. Percival couldn't make out what it was with the distance between them, but it was most likely the NSPS, the notorious anti-witchcraft group based at this particular area in New York. Not that he was keeping up with it. He was a reasonable man, always thought the whole ordeal was absurd, built on the people's paranoia and blind obsession to _hate_ something beyond their erudition. Unless witches on broomsticks themselves came knocking on his door, he couldn't see why he had to believe it. Ludicrous as it was, he felt drawn to the young man, tall and slender with a poor attempt of a bowlcut atop his head, but with strong, prominent cheekbones and jawline that got overlooked by his overall timid nature. He looked like an enigma himself. Percival _had_ to get a better look.

 

When he was close enough to read the bold letters on the leaflets, he had to ease a little, courteous smile onto his lips. People often told him he looked menacing what with the thick bushy brows and perpetual pout, and that was no way to approach a person like this one. Percival had been right, the man in question was tall, if not taller than him if he straightened his back and tipped his chin up, his striking features hidden underneath the dark air around him. Percival strode casually, mimicking other commoners around him, seemingly apathetic before he halted his steps in front of the man, offering out an open palm.

 

Oh, the eyes that met him were nothing short of breathtaking. Percival _read_ people, a talent that came in handy both in his line of work and in everyday life, and it was a fleeting second but in the dilated dark orbs that matched his own he saw a great deal of fear, like the man was afraid Percival was going to push him down or yell at him. He immediately wondered, how could a member of such a vocal, audacious, and fanatical community be so _scared_? 

 

The man stepped back to make room for Percival, as if he was in the way even though they both knew he wasn't. It was almost like it had been implanted in his mind that _he_ was the problem. No matter if he did nothing wrong, he was always the problem, the irritating itch on the back that people desperately want to scratch away. He put the handout in Percival's hand and casted his eyes back down to the cold ground. Percival's brows knitted at the display, and on an impulse he asked, "So how do you tell a witch from an ordinary human?" 

 

The question made the young man snap his head up, his pupils big once again. He worried his bottom lip, contemplating, before replying, "You can't, until they show it to you."

 

"So you can't be sure," Percival assumed. How he adored the soft lull of the young man's voice, the words rolling out of his mouth nimbly. He half expected him to stutter but found relief when he didn't. "But you want to burn them all?"

 

"Humans make mistakes, Mister, but God is never wrong," the young man said after a brief pause. He was looking straight into Percival's eyes now, as if begging for approval, _Believe me_.

 

"True that," Percival gave him a kosher smile. He saw the young man less as an extremist and more as a man of God, brought up by the wrong crowd. Misguided. "What's your name, my boy?"

 

The young man curled into himself again, as if his body unknowingly wished to evade the question. 

 

"It's alright, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

 

Percival saw the bat of his eyelashes and the huff of breath that came with it. "It's Credence Barebone, Sir," he said, uncertain. "Why do you want to know my name?"

 

"So I can address you properly," Percival reasoned. "I'm Percival Graves. I'm only passing through but I'm genuinely interested in your—" he gestured his hand about in the air, "Doctrine. We have different ones."

 

It seemed like a good enough answer for Credence, and he nodded. "You ought to come to our meetings, the details are on the paper I gave you," he said, his eyes more spirited than they were moments ago. "We'll enlighten you."

 

Percival eyed the leaflet and found the trifle. He didn't really believe all of this, and he had a hunch that Credence was leaning towards that direction as well. He probably had no say in it.

 

"What if _we're_ the enemy?" Percival suddenly inquired. He was testing Credence, to see if his belief held as little conviction as his voice. "There's enough heinous people in the world, I'm sure you've been unlucky to encounter some of them, why aren't we fighting them instead? Would a little magic be _so_ bad?"

 

Credence was quick to duck his head and shy away from Percival. "Yes," he answered shakily. "Awful. Unnatural. Witches are the worst creatures to ever walked this earth. They bring nothing but damnation. Wicked beings," Credence spat out, as if reciting another person's speech. As if the words were beaten into him, until he had no choice but to accept them. To tell himself that he believed them.

 

Percival hummed. "Maybe you're right," he said, for the sake of the boy. "I'll come to your meetings and maybe then you can show me," he continued and when Credence lifted his head up to meet his gaze, he smiled.

 

Credence's cheeks flushed red at the promise. Without thinking much of it, Percival reached out and ruffled his hair, messing up the formerly immaculate cut. Credence's mouth fell open as he froze, Percival could tell he never saw the gentle deed coming. When he pulled his hand away, Credence visibly took a huge gulp of air. It was charming more than it was awkward, Percival had never met someone this innocent. 

 

"It's okay, you know? To doubt. It'll make your faith stronger, in time," he assured the young man. And then he held up his hand to wave, ready to turn on his heels. "Expect me, Credence."

 

Credence looked like he wanted to wave back, but he just stood there in awe, his lovely lips parted. Percival had started walking so he didn't catch the smile Credence threw him, the first one in forever.

 

+

 

Turned out, Percival couldn't keep his promise after all. The following Monday he had to travel to Dallas, where a client of his met some troubles with his business and had to close down some major deals with other companies. It had been a while since he had to take the train, and thoughts of the Second Salem boy instantly left his mind as soon as he was faced with legal paperworks. 

 

A week and a half into his trip, Percival stumbled upon a news that made his heart sink. A 5.5 earthquake had taken place in New York City the night before, and it wasn't clear if there were any human casualties. Though the circumstances were odd since as far as he knew the area wasn't seismically active and the last one happened nearly 50 years ago, he didn't want to pass it up as nothing. He was going to phone his landlord as soon as possible, to ask how bad it was and if the house was still in one piece. The hotel he was staying in had phone booths in the lobby and true to its nature, when he got around people were already lining up, their faces marred with anxious eyes and bitten lips. Only then, he remembered Credence. Only then, he got worried.

 

_"It wasn't a goddamn earthquake, Mr. Graves! It was a monster!"_

 

His landlord's statement made Percival blink in surprise, and he shook his head to get some sense into himself. "Hold on, Abernathy, it was a _what_?"

 

_"A damn monster, Mister! A black wind with eyes going on a rampage! They say there was a boy in it!"_

 

Percival's head throbbed. Abernathy was probably drinking again. "A black wind with eyes? Are you hearing yourself?" He rubbed two fingers on his temple, sighing. "Listen, I just want to know if everything's all right. Did anyone die?"

 

Some rustling, and then when Abernathy spoke again he sounded more collected. _"S'all well, Sir. We only got a lick down here. The worst was on Pike Street, the ol' church and the department store are in shambles there."_

 

Percival felt like the air was knocked out of him. Trepidation curled deep within his stomach and he swallowed thickly before asking, "Are you sure no one was harmed?"

 

_"Not one that I know of, the news really don't say much. But then again they said it was an earthquake, by the Lord in our Heavens I swear it was not!"_

 

"Alright," he said more to himself than to his landlord. He needed a drink, a strong one. "You take care now, I'll be back Tuesday next week."

 

The rest of his week in Dallas went by hazily. The days were warmer and the nights were colder, and he couldn't stop fretting over Credence even if he didn't want to. There was no way he could contact him, and the realization that he _cared_ came belatedly, when he was drunk. It didn't matter anymore, he tried to talk with God to no avail, he felt miserable and he wanted to be. Closing his eyes, he tried to map out even the smallest details of Credence's features he could recall from their first and only meeting, his heart doing somersaults in its ribcage. He didn't think he was able to feel this way anymore. He was too old for this, too tired. He imagined the smile Credence never gave him and fell asleep restlessly.

 

+

 

Stepping into the very same street where he first saw Credence that one afternoon felt surreal. It didn't look too bad now that five days had gone by, but it felt empty. It was almost like a ghost of what it used to be. They never touched the church, the building looked like God Himself wreaked havoc to punish the people in it and no one bothered to fix it. Nobody was there, and he was almost tempted to call Credence's name only to hear the echo of his own voice greeting him back. 

 

"I guess I'll never know," he muttered under his breath. Stepping back from the decay, he took a deep breath, telling himself that he was okay with it. That his chest would stop aching, that he would move on, and forget all about Credence Barebone as easily as he fell for him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 4 months later and i'm still obsessed with these two. sigh.


End file.
